Hope is like food: You will starve without it
by kelmeister
Summary: (Updated to correct upload issues) Captain Swan. One-shot, complete. Missing scene, 3x12 "New York City Serenade." Time passed between Hook's release from jail and their drinks at the loft. "Bologna, huh."


**A/N: UPDATED TO CORRECT EVERYTHING (that's the last time I try to upload something from my tablet, hahaha)**

The present stops while the past floods Emma's mind. Killian sees her struggle with it: the tears brimming her eyes, the sobs she wrestles down within her. Her brow furrows. She stares at him, hard, fighting something, but then softens as she focuses on something far behind his head and long ago. He doesn't interrupt her, grants her space to work things through. Finally, she breaks.

"I don't want to go home," she whispers.

He nods, deducing she needs more time. "Whatever you want, love." He gives her a small smile.

He is rewarded with the slight rise of the corner of her mouth. She regards him with a tilt of her head. "Bologna, huh."

"Dreadful stuff. Bloody disgusting."

She nods her head toward the city behind her. "Come on, pirate."

Killian has never been so grateful to be called such a disparaging name.

—

They walk in an easy, companionable silence. Emma sets the pace: not hurrying, yet not quite a leisurely stroll. Killian can see she's still turning her memories over in her mind, and he allows her her solitude. Instead, he looks around him, flabbergasted by the throngs of humanity they're drowning in. The last time he was in this city, his attention was focused solely on the death of the crocodile. This time, he was preoccupied with finding his Swan and gaining her trust. He feels himself relaxing, curiosity overcoming him. The buildings are far taller than the grandest castles he's ever seen: while some keeps could encircle an entire town, these spiraling towers hold their citizens aloft in the heavens. Considering these structures, with fatigue and hunger scratching at the boundaries of his awareness, is dizzying.

Against his better judgment, he interrupts Emma with a question about the city. She answers with but a syllable. He pauses, asks another. She responds with a few words. And then the dam breaks: Killian can contain himself no longer. He recounts how difficult he found navigating the "sub way," orienting himself in a land where the lights of life were so bright the night could never be seen, trying to find food and shelter, how now he feels as though it is all old hat. He doesn't know if Emma is listening to his chattering, but he can see by the gentle slump of her shoulders that his voice is calming her.

And then suddenly, she stops. They're surrounded by an explosion of color and languages, the unexpected sounds of farm animals lost among the rumble of vehicles and incomprehensible yells of barkers.

"Where are we," he asks.

"It's in the alley," she says, pointing, "Henry and I come here a lot—" She bites back a frown. "When we have things to celebrate."

She leads him through a door he hadn't noticed, into a small cookshop, a warm room of gold and red. Above the bar, a dragon slithers the length of the wall in a delicate painting. "You have dragons in your realm," he asks, breathless.

Emma smirks. "No, here they're nothing but myths." She turns and gives him a smile. "I don't know what Mrs. Yuan would do if I told her I actually fought with one."

As though her comment was an incantation, the woman in question materializes before them, a tiny older woman who vigorously wipes her hands on an apron before enveloping Emma in a hug. "Emma, it's so good to see you," she says, pushing Emma away to look her over. "Where's Henry?"

As Killian watches the two women, he feels a burning rise from his chest, the heat reaching his cheeks. The horror of it dawns on him: she has a life, here. Beyond Henry, beyond the man she had dinner with last night. She has friends. And he's taken that from her. Even if it was based on a lie, it was still real. And he—

Before he can castigate himself for his failings, Emma is at his elbow, the corner of her mouth upturned. She leads him to a small table, two steaming cups of tea at the ready. He wraps his hand around the dainty cup, thankful for its warmth.

Emma clears her throat. "Hook, I need to apologize," she says, staring at her hands resting on the table. "I'm not— I—" She looks him in the eye, her gaze begging him to understand. "I don't know what to say. It's so much, too much. All in my head."

Emboldened by her look, Killian takes a risk: he releases his teacup and lays his warm fingers lightly atop hers. "There's no need to explain, love." He gives her a small smile, wanting to say more, wanting to comfort her, ease her mind, tell her he'll gladly give her all the time in the world—

Instead, Mrs. Yuan places between them multiple plates piled high with food. Killian is embarrassed when his stomach growls loudly and his mouth begins to water. He shines all of his charm on Mrs. Yuan. "A feast fit for a king!" he hollers with gusto, grabbing a fork.

Mrs. Yuan pokes Emma's shoulder with a bony finger. "This one," she says, nodding at Killian who is vigorously stabbing at an egg roll, "This one, I like."

Emma just shakes her head. Killian couldn't care less: the thing on his fork is too big to fit in his mouth in one bite, and he's quickly growing frustrated. Emma reaches out, gently guides his fork back to his plate.

"It's an egg roll," she says, "It's vegetables in a pastry." She pulls it from his fork, dips one end in a small cup of bright orange liquid, and takes a small bite, handing it back to him with a grin.

And so lunch continues. Emma explains crab rangoon, and lettuce wraps, and egg drop soup. Killian marvels at the delicious teriyaki steak on a stick. Emma demonstrates her mastery of chopsticks, to which he scoffs and spears a chunk of chicken with his fork.

"Gods!" Killian's eyes water at the spicy sauce coating his tongue. "What is this?"

"General Tso's Chicken," Emma says.

"He must have been a formidable foe to have such a dish as his namesake!" Killian stuffs another piece in his mouth with a flourish.

—

He leans back in his chair, pats his belly with a laugh. Emma was quiet throughout the rest of their meal, and Killian conceded to her, fixated on gorging himself. But now, he wonders what will happen between them, where they go from here.

As a way in, he picks up a strange cracker from the table. "Swan, what is this," he asks, holding it out for her examination.

"It's a fortune cookie," she says, taking it from him and turning it in her hands. "There's a piece of paper inside. It has a saying on it that's supposed to tell your future or give you guidance."

"What kind of sorcery is this?" He picks the other cookie up, looks to Emma for a hint as to what to do.

"It's not sorcery, it's a game. It's custom to eat one after a Chinese meal. It doesn't mean anything." Emma cracks her cookie in half, revealing a sliver of white inside.

Killian follows her lead, breaking the cookie between his fingers. He sets the pieces on the table and pulls out the paper. "Huh," he grunts, frowning. "'The greatest war sometimes isn't on the battlefield but against oneself.' Apropos I would say, eh, Swan?" He glances at her across the table. All the color has drained from her face, her jaw slack, fiercely focused on the slip she clutches in trembling hands. "Emma, love? What does it say?" He reaches forward and gently tugs on the paper. She meets his concern with frightened eyes wet with unshed tears.

Killian reads her fortune. _You are worth loving; You are also worth the effort it takes to love you. _He meets her gaze. No wonder she is so upset: confronted with written words he's been trying so desperately to say with his actions. "And you denied sorcery," he whispers, a sad smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Seems to me the most powerful of magic is at work here."

Emma coughs. "I think I'm ready to go home, now," she says, pushing back from the table and grabbing the check. "I could use a drink."

"Aye," he says. He takes her coat from the back of her chair and holds it out to her, gingerly helping her slide it over her shoulders. "I fear we have much to discuss."

On their way out of the restaurant, Killian stops Mrs. Yuan. He takes her hand, places a gentle kiss on her knuckles, and bows deeply. "Thank you," he says, "For the delicious repast." Mrs. Yuan giggles and gives Emma a dramatic wink.

Emma glances sadly at Killian and opens the door. He gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile, trying to convey as much courage and hope and love as he can, trying to convince her that everything will be alright. Trying to convince himself.

"Lead on, Swan," he says, gesturing toward home.


End file.
